Connecting with God through poetic articulations of lived, embodied experience–engaging texts from the Revised Common Lectionary for Christian churches, other biblical and spiritual texts, and evocations of the divine in rituals and other public events–always accepting lived reality as a primary source of divine revelation and mystery.

Pentecost Sunday

Reflection on the Day of Pentecost, Year A

Happy birthday, Church, we say on Pentecost— meaning not our local community but whole Big C, the Church universal— but what if Luke in Acts 2, citing ancestor Joel, saw a bigger vision in the tongues, the fire, Holy Spirit moving, touching everyone, surging wind filling the whole space and beyond as crowds gathered amazed, these devout Jews— were there only Jews— from every nation gathered in Jerusalem for Shavuot, the feast of weeks fifty days after Passover and the Resurrection, how could they all fit in one room that was intended for disciples including women of course; how is violent wind of many fiery tongues contained in one room?

Did the walls disappear, not crashing down not scaring or hurting people nor in battle as at Jericho but vanishing so that in a twinkling the room is the world the street is the room all open to the divine swirling in and around them— all things are possible with God— so on that day as on all days there were no limits on the Spirit of God that brooded long ago on the face of the deep in the first days.

In the last days God says I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh young and old all genders humans of all stations including those not allowed their God-given freedom, all flesh, God says— when does all not mean all, and if we claim the right to change the word, to say it is only people who believe a certain way, what or who is our authority?

Are we still waiting or did the last days already come— has not God poured already does not God pour every day, are not all blessed, and how do we, will we, you and I, respond?

About this poem . . . Walls are often necessary, but we also can get stuck behind them. I don’t think God likes many of our walls, so often slipping through them and hoping we do, too. The biggest, hardest walls are, of course, the ones in our heads.

Have you ever noticed on the first Pentecost people were not only able to speak in tongues not their own, but also the people inside the house and outside could share—speak and be heard? How does that happen? It surely is not happening today in the United States where people, even when they are in the same room, talk right past each other. And instead of walls seeming to evaporate, some leaders, so they call themselves, propose to build new ones—and not just physical walls against immigrants, Muslims, but cultural ones against transgender persons and gay men and lesbian women, and put even more young and old black men, and women too, behind bars or behind the ultimate barrier called a casket, not to mention denying health care for many unable to pay—too bad, so sad, you’re on the wrong side of the great health divide. Just don’t get sick, okay?

Somehow on that Pentecost morning walls of the house where the followers of Jesus were hanging out came down, or if they did not fall physically they were transparent or at least able to let sound mingle inside and out. That surely was divine work but also it had to come from the desire to reach into the community of strangers, to those who believed other truths— they wanted to build community not tear it apart and they knew it could only be done by reaching across borders, taking the risk of talking with unfamiliar people, accepting difference as natural and God-given, indeed a gift manifesting the richness and bounty of Creation.

Building community requires trust, trust first in God, a power greater than oneself, a power greater than one’s voice claiming to be all that is necessary—vote for me and we’ll be great again, whatever that means—knowing God is the source of all our strength and goodness, that no one human or even group of humans provides all we need, no nation, no tribe, no church, synagogue, mosque, party, business, family is self-sufficient. It takes all of us to make a fruitful life together. When we deny our interconnectedness we slowly, but surely die. The interdependent web of life is like a spider web, truly, even the www.whatever, when one strand, one server, one station, one town’s water system, is broken, the whole is no longer, it is only a lesser version of what it was or could be.

So let us on this Pentecost be open and honest with those who doubt, as others doubted that morning long ago, but even more let us stand against those claiming to have, and even to be, the only answers we need, and especially we must stand foursquare opposed to those whose answers involve tearing down others in order to garner whatever spoils they think are theirs— because they shout louder and bully more. Most of all, let us lower our own walls, proclaiming liberty to the captives—even bullies are captured by a creed of greed and awful need—showing all of us the better, more faithful, trusting way of life.

About this poem . . .The message of Pentecost—everyone can be in conversation with each other, we can accept, even celebrate, our differences and learn from them, when we lower the barriers, when the walls come down—is so contrary to our public culture in the United States today. Can we have a new Pentecost? Can we actively engage across the lines in order to defuse tension and war, create peace? It must start in our own hearts and lives, of course, and then we can take it into the world. This will put us in active opposition with those who live off, and promote, fear, but even with them, our own walls need to be lowered.